The Rain Always Falls Here
by ArabellaNitehart
Summary: America visits England right as he heads out to battle. Something seems off, but it's all in America's head right? Yeah probably, but why is England wearing that uniform from the Independence War..? This can't be good.. USUK
1. Part 1: The Beginning of the End

The Rain Always Falls Here Part 1: The Beginning of the End

It was night time and raining as usual in the United Kingdom. A gloomy atmosphere lingered every corner of the streets. America, who was always his cheery self, was in the neighborhood near England's house and decided to bother him.

He hums a familiar tune while walking leisurely to England's home through the rain. "Man this is going to be totally awesome! Wait'll England checks out my sweet new jacket! Nothing says America is the hero than a jacket that says 'America is the HERO!' on the back! Britain will be so jealous!" He laughs out loud heartily into the air, choking on raindrops in the process.

The each drop of rain feels cooling to his face. He stops for a bit and looks up to the crescent moon shining a brilliant white. "Man… It's always raining at your place isn't it England?" He looks back forward and starts his way again.

He finally gets to England's house and pounds on the door feeling proud and strong. "Hey England! Are you home? Come out here!"

The door opens with England on the other side looking rather annoyed. America sees that England is wearing his uniform from the war where he won his independence. He gives a perplexed look at his old friend who was dry while he was still getting drenched in the rain.

England folds his arms and is starting to lose his patience. "Yes? What is it? America I'm busy at the moment. What did you come here for?"

"Hey England..! Why are you wearing that old thing? It's been out of style for a long time now!" He gives Britain a grin.

"Idiot!" snapped England. "Well, you'd better get inside; you're soaking wet." He said calmly.

Knowing his joke didn't ease any tension and unknowingly tragedy was to come eventually; America stepped inside out of the rain.

England closes the door and fetches a towel for America to dry off with. "Here," he hands America the towel. "You should know by now that it always rains here. You're going to catch a head cold. At least have the common sense to bring an umbrella when you visit!"

America takes the towel and brushes it on his head. "A little rain didn't hurt anyone!" He says with a smile. _You tell me that England, but I should be the one telling you. You never use an umbrella when it's raining. And you call me the idiot, Idiot_! His glasses fog up from underneath the towel. He takes them off and wipes the lenses with the end of his shirt then puts them back on.

England sighs then goes to the mirror near his desk where he sees a photo of him and young America in his arms slipped in the corner. He takes it and puts it into his coat pocket before America could get a glimpse of what he was doing and then checks himself in the mirror and starts fixing his uniform.

America puts down the towel and tries to look at the corner of his eye to see what England was up to; acting as if he isn't interested. He gave up trying to be covert about it and decides to just look to see what he was doing. "Hey England. So, why are you wearing that uniform?" Truth be told, America was very interested on what England's reason was. The two of them knew what kinds of feelings will arise if this subject's conversation continues on.

England was very aware of the situation, but was intent on keeping a steady ground between the curious chap and himself. He gives America a quick glance then back at the mirror to fix his clothes again. "Nothing really, just another battle I'm headed off to. I just wanted to look nice for this particular event."

_I guess there's really no major reason why he's wearing that uniform_. Thought America, _Just England being England, stupid_. Feeling satisfied with the answer, he sits on the couch and relaxes while the fire in front of him dances in the fireplace. He smiles. "Alright! Well if you ask me that uniform doesn't fit the bill of "nice". You should have called me up to pick out your clothes! Your whole style needs my superior help!"

England stops trying to fix his uniform and makes an irritated look at America. "Bloody patriot! Did you come here just to insult my wardrobe? I swear you're such a brat!"

America quickly remembered the reason he came over. "Oh yeah! I completely forgot!" He stands up to show off his jacket. "Hey dude, check it! Look how awesome my new jacket is! I can understand why you would want to look good like me because I look freaking great all the time! Especially in this coat! Because I'm the hero! Like it says on my back!" _But… who would want to look good during war? You're gonna get dirty anyway! _This question stuck out in the back of his head, but he disregarded the thought_. England you're getting dumber every time I visit! _America laughed.

England, feeling annoyed, starts off to the kitchen to cook dinner for America. "Is that all? Really America! Don't you have anything better to do than come over here to boast about every useless object you receive?"

He adds ingredients and starts mixing in spices, then starts boiling water. He finishes ten minutes later and starts setting up the table with a plate, glass, spoon, fork, butter knife, and a napkin. He then delicately sets the food he's prepared onto the plate and pours in tea. He then looks at America. "Well, since you're here you might as well eat. It's late so you should stay the night too."

America makes a gagging face. "Why would I eat your crappy food? And it's not late! I should be out partying somewhere!"

England sighs. "Look, there's a huge storm coming soon and all flights have been cancelled so just stay here and you should eat it, it's healthier than all those hamburgers and sodas you've been indulging yourself with all the time! You're going to become obese! You should think about potential heart diseases!"

America sighs and walks towards the table, "Jeez England you worry too much! I'm not a child anymore! You out of all people should know that!"

England folds his arms, "You may not be a child anymore, but you still act like one! Learn how to take better care of yourself then I wouldn't have to worry you git!"

America tries to act like he's ignoring everything England just said. He looks down on the table and notices there's only a meal prepared for one. "Hey aren't you going to eat England? Dude what are you on a diet or something?" America shows off a teasing smile.

England makes an irritated face. He goes to his closet and takes out two handguns, several grenades, a C4 (Which he sets up for only a few seconds to go off when started), semi auto, and little ammunition. "I told you already. I have somewhere to be soon. I told you why I was wearing this didn't I? I'm headed to battle so I won't be here." He takes the two shotguns and puts each in a holder strapped around on both his right and left thighs just above the knee. He then puts the C4 and ammunition in the belt pack under his coat and carries the semi auto in a holder strapped around his chest. He tightens the straps on both his thighs so it will stay hidden under his uniform and for it not to slip down the legs of his pants while walking.

America looks confused again, "With only that much weapons and ammunition? You're never going to win that way!" He starts laughing. "It's like you're fighting the battle with only yourself! It's pathetic!"

England ignores America and puts on his boots then he starts for the front door and heads outside. He looks back at America. "America… Could you watch the house while I'm gone?"

"Yeah sure whatever! But it'll cost ya! You still owe me money! I'm gonna be going through your stuff while you're gone okay?" America gives a big smile. "And I'll make sure the party doesn't get outta control!" he said jokingly.

England smiles, "Good-bye America." He closes the door behind him and starts walking off through the cold numbing rain towards his destination.

America stares at the closed door for a few minutes then sits down at the table picking up the fork and starts poking at everything that's on the plate. After much analyzing he picks up a piece of food Britain prepared and bites into it. "Even after all these years… Your cooking still sucks."

Hours pass and England makes it to his destination. The sky black as the despair he felt. It was a cracked barren wasteland filled with stones and bones of past wars. Rain seems to be following him everywhere these days; it pierces his skin. He sees Prussia waiting for him with his army of a thousand not too far behind.

Prussia gives a smirk at England, "Well you decided to show up! It took you long enough! I thought you were bluffing when you called. So you agree to meet my demands?"

England makes a disgusted face at Prussia, "Why yes. I came here with only myself and one weapon." motioning to the auto semi on his back. "And…" he breathes in heavily and out silently. "I agree to let you have your way." He scowls at Prussia.

Prussia laughs, "I knew you wouldn't oppose to it! You are indeed pitiable!" he cackled. "And what are you wearing? The Independence War happened a long time ago if you haven't heard! Or… Is there a different reason why you're wearing it..?" Prussia's smirk becomes more devilish than normal.

"You're wearing it because of what I wrote you, isn't it? Of course it is! Why else would you be here by yourself, barely anything to fight with, and you wearing that outdated uniform? Paying some kind of homage to him? Huh? Or is it because it's the only thing you have connecting to that day, the only thing you have left connecting to him now that you won't ever see him again?" He starts laughing manically. Not assuming that Britain could have other weapons hiding in his uniform. Prussia's pride shaded his own thinking.

England stays silent with his head down. "You swear…"

Still laughing uncontrollably, Prussia tries to control himself, "Swear what?"

England immediately raises his head and looked fiercely at Prussia straight in the eye. "You swear that if I do this, you will leave him alone?" hissed the angry Englishman.

Prussia calms down a bit, chuckling here and there. "I swear it England! I'll leave him alone! There would be no point to take him over! …It's you I want…! With your strong navy to complete our army… With all your resources to make me stronger… I will take over every mighty country one by one! Prussia will be feared by all! Prussia will take over this land!" He signals his army to get ready. "But I'm afraid you won't be here to watch my reigning glory!"

England smiles and quickly takes out both the handguns with both hands and points it to his sides. "Now, then…" He is surrounded by Prussia's army. "Shall we begin..?"

In some ways, Prussia was right about the reason why England was wearing the uniform. England knew how Prussia was and how he would react if he'd wear it. So it would be the perfect plan to conceal other weapons because Prussia would have assumed another reason. Though the reason he thinks was also correct. England wanted to be close to America even though the distance between them was immense, physically and emotionally. The uniform brings him pain and comfort; sorrow and delight. It brings America to him and that was enough for England. Although America wasn't actually with him at the moment… Even if it is just an old, worn out uniform… This could be that last time he would be with him…

America, having finally finished his meal, was in the kitchen debating whether or not he should wash the dishes. He makes up his mind and washes them. "England will harass me about it when he comes back. I don't want to deal with that so I might as well wash them."

After he was done he was itching for a shower. He went into his old room which he thought became a guest room to find any clothes he can change into afterwards. Thinking since it became the guest room all the old stuff that was in there before would be gone and essentials for a guest would be in there. Although he was skeptical about finding spare clothes, but tried looking anyway.

To his surprise the room seemed untouched by time. Leonardo Da Vinci paintings drawn over with crayons were still hanging on the walls. Even pictures he and Britain drew were hung in some places and inside of drawers. "Ah England. You still keep all this junk? It's about time you did some cleaning in here." remarked America.

Everything remained where it was the day he left. Although, there was still something different about the room. "I got it!" exclaimed America. He noticed that the room hasn't gathered dust for the past years. "…I guess you do clean in here."

America went to the closet expecting to find his old clothes and toys from when he was younger. He was partially right. Inside he found old toys he used to play with and his old small clothes, but also newer looking clothes that were his current size. America sighed. "That guy wasn't lying when he said he can do magic tricks or some kind of shit like that! I mean, how else would he know that I was coming and have put out clothes in my size!"

England didn't know though. It was simply for emergencies if America suddenly decided to stay a night or two. He knew this, but couldn't admit it out loud even though there was no one around to hear.

America starts remembering the memories of him and England. England came home with a soldier set and a play house for him. He broke his arm making it. Another memory comes to mind, when America was playing in the front yard while England was watching and he ran into the street. A car was speeding towards him. England ran towards America and got him out of the way, just barely, for him to be safe, but having England left with several broken bones … _That's so like England! Always treating me like a kid! Always thinking I'm helpless! Always thinking of me first…_ This thought aggravated America. He was in no mood to feel that way. What he was in the mood for was the feeling of warm water on his body; a shower!

He grabbed the clothes and raced into the bathroom. After he was finished getting ready, America turned in for the night.

Prussia immediately figured out that England was hiding weapons and swore that he would kill America after he took care of England. He needed to be careful though because he wasn't aware of what other tricks England had up his sleeve. England anticipated these and had a plan to stop Prussia, even if it meant for him to die as well.

_I cannot risk it. Prussia is a conniving bastard!_ _He will try to kill him whether or not I agree to his terms after I'm dead._ _If I go down then Prussia will go down with me! I'll do anything, if it means America will be safe. _Tears start to well up in England's eyes, but he still stays strong, still keeps fighting gallantly.

The battle goes on. Prussia tries to get to England from behind, but England tires his hardest to quickly and swiftly dodge attacks and bullets and bring down Prussia's men one by one, causing Prussia to have difficulties chasing him. Already England is seriously wounded and many already vibrantly visible, deep, on England's body causing him to collapse in the midst of everything. He is surrounded once again by Prussia's troops.

"I will fucking destroy you, you deceiving bastard!" growled Prussia slowly walking towards the fallen England.

While they are closing in on England, he sits up to put one hand gun back when the photo he had in his pocket falls out in the struggle to get up due to his wounds. He picks it up with his hand and smiles; crying while he looks at it fondly once more. He then takes out the C4 from underneath his coat; already counting down… "Are you prepared for this Prussia..?"

From a distance all you can see is the heavy rain falling through the moon and lightning trying to cut the crescent in two. An explosion is heard vaguely in the wind, but the loud roars of thunder singing with the pounding rain is all that's heard through America's ears while he lies in bed in his old room. Putting his glasses on the nightstand next to his bed; he looks out the window that was on the side where he was facing and watches each water droplet fall. "It really does always rain in your place huh England..?" The moon shines down on his face. He lies down and falls asleep.

A week has passed and England still hasn't returned. America for the first time in a long time did some laundry the day before and was wearing once again the clothes he wore in the beginning of the week, strutting around in his new jacket.

He starts to get annoyed and paces around in the house restlessly. "Jeez England! When are you going to get back? It's getting really boring here! Nothing happens the UK but rain and have little boy scouts try to sell me scones!" America starts to become anxious and begins to go through England's belongings. "Even your stuffs lame!" He suddenly finds several photo albums with photos of England and himself when he was young in England's desk. One picture that caught his attention was on the desk next to a letter. It was one of him and England at a river. America was splashing in the water happily while England watched and laughed. America's anxious expression turned soft as he grows deep in thought remembering all the memories he and England had together once again. He felt a little sad afterwards, so he put the picture back where he found it. _Out of sight out of mind, right? _He thought. He sees the letter that the photo was next to and makes a mischievous smile. He opens it up to read it, which read:

England,

This is a demand I want from you. Agree to come battle me at Dead Man's Field with my army of a thousand. With you bringing one weapon and no military. That's correct, come with only yourself. You must fight us as valiantly as you can against us.

To make things easier to comprehend of what I want from you is…

I want, you! I want you to let me take over the United Kingdom, but let's make it interesting; it'll be more fun! For me anyway! I want to see you get annihilated by my army while you're at you best, trying to survive! As soon as I tire of fighting you, you will also agree to let me kill you on the spot. If you don't accept these demands I will not hesitate to destroy your precious America! You and I both know that I am more than capable of doing it! You have one day to respond! If I don't hear from you by then, then I'll take it as a rejection and kill America! I don't take rejection very well!

Prussia

As soon As America finished reading the letter he laughed. "What is Prussia stupid or something? He can't destroy me! Heh heh!" America looks up. "I'm the hero! I'm totally awesome!" With his head still looking up and a confident smile on his face, tears start whelming up in his eyes and overflows down his cheeks. "I'm the hero..!" He puts his head down causing his glasses to fall off his face onto the floor and break. He ignores that fact and covers his eyes with his arm and starts crying with the letter grasped tightly in his hand. "I'm the her-" He falls down to his knees clasping his hands over his face and starts sobbing. He brings his head up and screams from the top of his lungs, "England! What the hell? I am not a child anymore! You always do this! Even when I was a kid! You always do things that get you hurt for me! I am not a child anymore! I am not your little brother! I can take care of myself!" He puts his hands down to his sides; still sobbing and stares at the ceiling with his blurred vision caused by his tears. "Then… Why..? Why? Why do you keep treating me like your little brother..? Why do you keep trying to protect me dammit? Damn you!"

The words from the letter run violently through his head. _You will let me kill you… or I will destroy America…Kill you… You will let me kill you…or I will destroy America…I'll kill America…_

…_**You will let me kill you…**_

America gets up and looks at the mirror near the desk. His sight blurry, but sees someone in the mirror. He knows it's himself, but the vision starts becoming distorted in his eyes. Instead of himself he sees in the mirror… He sees England fatally wounded; in critical condition… lying unmoving on the ground. Maybe it was his tears, maybe it's his pain, or his eyesight that's causing the images, but it didn't matter. He finally realized what was going on and he desperately didn't want it to be true. A few hours after England stepped right out the door, he was in a war where he can never win and a week has already passed...

America's inner turmoil was raging; wreaking havoc, twisting his insides. His feelings overwhelmed him. "Why…? Why does it hurt so much? Why am I feeling like this..!" America cries harder choking on words he tried to say out loud. He knew why he felt like this.

America suddenly bolts out the front door into the cold… cold rain… He runs towards Dead Man's Field knowing it will be hours away by foot and that he didn't come prepared for the journey, but he didn't care. _You're a dumbass England! You can't survive on your own against Prussia and his men! You fucking idiot..!_

"I don't care what happens to me! I will get to you no matter what! I will be there with you! I will help you! Because..!" Thunder shouts around the country surrounding America with its angry song. Lightning shoots across the sky to show the world of America's pain. With his vision nearly blind and tears making worse of his situation while it trails behind him as he runs; he runs as fast as he can to reach Britain. America screams into the moonlit night, "Because I'M the HERO…!"


	2. Part 2: A Child In a Hero

Hopefully you didn't wait too long! I'm very pleased to see that there are people reading this! Before you begin reading, I want to clarify things because it seems to me that this chapter differs greatly (to an extent) of the first chapter.

Part 1 is more of a friend to friend to start off with, so it was more country naming basis (America, England/Britain). Now that part 2 is up, it gets more serious between the two even though they are apart. So human names will be used and more descriptions than names to figure out who's speaking or doing which part from the story to not have so much repetition, but not many changes in names will occur.

An addition to the differences, it seems my way of writing changed in some way (Or is it just all in my head?). This chapter was very hard to write (And there is a high chance that the future chapters will be difficult as well) because it's more of an interlude until the next big thing happens, that way you guys can break a bit from action, just a little though. Please review on how I did. I hope you like it and I'll see you in the next chapter!

[Note: Independence War is another term for Revolutionary War in several other different curriculums for schooling. Independence War had fit better in the story than the other name, that's all.

**The Rain Always Falls Here Part 2: A Child in a Hero**

"**England!" America practically throws his voice towards the departing Englishman whose hand gripped the front door knob. England was already outside, the color of his old uniform darkening from the rain, when America yelled from the dining table. "Don't you frickin' dare take one more step! You can't fight Prussia all by yourself! How stupid can you be?" America's voice cracks as he runs toward England and grabs his arm.**

**Strangely, England doesn't say a word, staying perfectly still. America lets go and stares at the back of his head, slowly calming down.**

**Unfazed by America's sudden hold, England turns around facing him, but his eyes were fixated past him towards the table. **_England, what are you looking at? I'm right here you blind old man!_ **America screamed in his mind.**

"**America… Could you watch the house while I'm gone?"**

**Shocked by the response, America's anger rose. "No, I won't fucking watch your damn house! You shouldn't be leaving!" America grabs England by the shoulders and tries to shake him back into his senses, but he was stiff. America releases England's shoulders and steps back to take a good look at him worriedly. **_How come I can't make him move? He won't budge!_

**England smiles, "Good-bye America." He closes the door behind him.**

_What the fuck was that?_** America grabbed the door knob, practically breaking the door apart from the hinges to get it to open. He sees England walking through the rain, stepping in little puddles one after another. America sprints and jumps in front of him, putting both his hands on the older nation's chest to stop him; eyes closed and head down pushing against the moving England, but it was impossible! England kept walking looking straight ahead and determined, not noticing the desperate American trying to stop him. "You ass!" America grunted, still pushing as hard as he can against England's chest. His feet were skidding across the slippery ground.**

**Suddenly, England stops in his tracks. He stayed silent. The sound of rain and America's heavy breathing are the only noises heard.**

**America pants heavily, but he wasn't as tired as he thought. He brings his head up and looks at the hushed nation. His eyes widen with disbelief and denial. "No… How..?" America uttered in what was almost a whisper.**

**Prussia smiled a devious smile. "Well! Just the person I wanted to see! I came to tell you that, that scone eating Brit England finally belongs to me! Now he's out of my way!" An evil laugh shoots from his mouth.**

**America's anger flares. He growls, immediately taking his hands off Prussia's chest to make two fists. He punches Prussia repeatedly, one blow after another until the laughing nation fell backwards onto his back. "Prussia I will fucking kill you! You damn sonofabitch!" He quickly goes over to Prussia and eyes widen once again. "No! What the hell is going on?"**

**America is suddenly shown a wounded England right before his eyes. **_I hit Prussia! Not England!___**America's mind was in a haze. **_Right..? _**Several stab and bullet wounds were on him, bruises colored England's soft, delicate skin. Crimson fluid just about poured out of him, covering the wet ground below him. He was bleeding uncontrollably.**

**The appearance of his friend stunned America. **_How are you wounded? You weren't like that a few minutes ago! I couldn't have caused that! I didn't! I didn't! Dammit! I swear I didn't!_

**He falls down to his knees and looks over England anxiously, his face only inches away from his own. "Wait..! Hold on! I'll get some help..! J-just just hang on!" America begins to get up to find help, but England grabs a hold of America's sleeve of his new bomber jacket to stop him. America looks back at him with pleading eyes trying to get Britain to understand that he has to find help. Fast!**

**England looks at America with his sad emerald eyes, barely breathing. "America… I know you hate me… I'm sorry for everything..." England coughs out blood. He breathes heavily and painfully. "I caused you so much grief, even after that war..." He tries to motion to his old Independence War uniform. "It's entirely my fault…" Blood trickles down England's forehead and down the side of his mouth. America tries to say something, but nothing came out no matter how hard he strained himself to speak.**

**Britain smiles, "But I wanted you to know that…" He coughs harder and more blood comes out. "That... I love you… Even though you don't return those feelings…" He raises a hand and gently puts it on the side of America's face. "You wouldn't love someone like me…"**

America's eyes abruptly open from the loud cry of thunder with the realization that he was collapsed on the ground, lying on his back.

He had passed out.

Nonstop running took its toll on the American. It was obvious that him that exhaustion took over his body. Rain continues to fall down; it keeps falling and falling and falling. It had been raining for a week straight. _It always rain here… It always, always rains!_

Thunder and lightning played with each other seeming to enjoy what had happened to America.

America thinks back to what England had said in his frighteningly vivid dream. Quietly, he whispers to himself, "But I do love you…"

America attempts to get up, but the most he can accomplish was getting on his hands and knees staring down blankly at the puddle on the ground looking to see whose reflection was in it. He was relieved to see it was his own, no weird images, but the comfort didn't last. "Arthur…" He mumbles and scrambles to his feet. His legs, surprised by the movement, gave out causing him to fall again. America's body was stiff and sore, but it doesn't stop him. He gets up to his feet one more time and bends his knees. Steadying himself by putting his hands on them.

_A hero doesn't give up…_

The struggling country couldn't get the dream out of his head. He wanted it to go away so badly. He couldn't bare seeing England so close to death, seeing him hurt, hearing him say that America didn't and wouldn't love him.

_... "Even though you don't return those feelings..." he said 'though' instead of 'if'... He seriously thought that I didn't love him and I never would... That's so not true! ... Am I really such a jackass that I would make him think like that..?_

America avoids trying to look up, the droplets felt like knives to his skin. He didn't want the feel of cuts on his face. But he looks up anyway, just to feel the way England must have felt for all these years. To understand why he felt like this.

He hears water splashes on the ground from a short distance behind him, which indicated that someone was running. Because America was still unable to move, he could do nothing, but wait for whoever was coming his way.

The running figure came closer and was beginning to become recognizable who it was through the raining night as soon as the light from the moon shined on the person's body. Blue uniform, red pants tucked in his boots, blonde wavy hair. It was hard to miss even with America not being able to see clearly; no glasses.

"France…" grunted America softly. He watches the Frenchman run up to him, but instead of a '_Boujour! Mon cher!'_ coated with a smile that America expected, he is greeted with rage filled eyes and a scowl formed on the lips of France. It was unusual for him not be his peppy self. This look he was giving America was unusual.

France roughly grabs a hold of America to have him stand up straight and look at him in the eyes. "_Amérique! _What do you think you are doing?" barked France.

America, not knowing how to respond to his outburst, glares at France questionably. "What the fuck are you talking about? What the hell are YOU doing?" yelled America. "I don't have time for this shit! I have to go save England dammit!" he growled. America starts squirming to get out of France's grip. "Let go!"

France held on to the moving nation harder. America's tries failed for he was still in so much pain. His body was sore and ached; his insides were eating at him. America groaned at the feeling.

France's hold was strong. The both of them knew no one was going anywhere. "_Oui, _I know what is happening! You will not help him _ze _way you are now! _Non!" _snapped France.

America still kept trying to free himself. "What the hell do you know? Why the hell would you even care? You fucking hate his guts! You're probably trying to stall me until he's dead!"

France lets go of one grip and strikes America in the stomach causing him to bend over and drop to his knees. "Ack!" America gasped, trying hard to breathe. "Asshole..!" He heaved and coughed. "Why is everything and everyone trying to stop me from saving England?" America screamed in frustration. He was mad, really mad, but all it did was cover the misery that clearly exposed through.

France clutches America's shirt and picks him up a few inches off the ground. Fury radiated off of him.

America struggles to get out of his grip. Grumbling swears that seeped out of the side of his mouth.

France was annoyed,_ "__Ne pas être un idiot! _Don't be an idiot_ Amérique! _You are not even prepared to save your _stupide _self or for _ze_ trip to _Dead Man's Field!_ How can you save _Angleterre?__"_

America stops struggling and looks at France, "How do you know where he is?" His voice was urgent and wanting for an immediate answer.

"I came to _Ze United Kingdom _to discuss _ze _next _World Meeting _with _Angleterre _at his home and _ze_ front door was left wide open! Nobody was there, but there was a wrinkled letter and your glasses on _ze_ floor!" remarked France. He took out the letter and America's glasses, shoving it in the American's face until he took it. "You cannot even see and you say you can rescue him? _Sacre bleu!_"

America stares at France silently. He was upset, he hated being wrong, he hated being told what to do, and he hated having to put up with France when he should be helping England. _That's all I want right now..! To help Arthur..._ America puts on his glasses with one hand and crumples the letter in the other, throwing it behind him.

France lets go of America and starts calmly talking, "_Amérique... _You are coming with me back to _ze_ closest town. Rest just for just _une__nuit_ and prepare for your trip." He leans close to America's face. "You do not want _Angleterre's _sacrifice to be in vain, now don't you, _mon pet?" _his words were terrifyingly cold.France was doing this to convince America to rest one night, he was in no shape to be the hero. A hero knows when to give up... for the sake of those he cares about.

America swallowed hard and gritted his teeth; he was still mad at France for stopping him. "Fine..." he said underneath his breath.

France smiled and took America's arm and wrapped it behind his neck to help him walk. "France, why are you doing this? Knowing you, you would totally try to stop me from rescuing Arthur."

France gives off a pleasantly cheery, but also sad smile, "_Oh_ _mon amie_, I don't interfere with _amour_!" _Zis amour might not last long. Although Angleterre is my greatest rival, he is also quite a good friend despite his idiotic personality. No one would want to lose a friend. _He looks at America and shows off another smile. _As do I. I do not want to lose two friends._

They set out through the rain to the nearest town.

France and America arrived to the little city. America was still being half carried by France. This made the almost immobile American feel helpless and he didn't like it one bit, but there was nothing else he could do, for the time being anyway. So he let France drag him to wherever he was planning to take him.

"France, where are we going?" America said nervously. He had thought of the actions France probably would do to him once they got to where they were headed.

France, who knew exactly what he was thinking, chuckled, "Oh hoh hoh! Do not worry _Amérique_! I have made reservations at a hotel for you!"

The answer America had gotten made him even more nervous, scared even. "Oh... That's cool... Thanks a bunch France..." America bowed his head down and began drifting away in thought, _England... Just hang on! I know you're still alive and I'll come get you! Don't die on me now! Not when I'm so close! Not when there's so many things left unsaid! _ America raised his head with a serious look on his face, "I WILL be the hero!"

France turns to him with a confused look, but he understood completely. "Ah, _Amérique_. You are such a child. A child who longs of being a hero. Think carefully what to do for tomorrow, prove to me and _Angleterre_ that you are no such thing, _zat_ you are a hero and not a little child. We will then have no choice, but to take back those words. Although, the choices you have made up to _zis_ point say a different story. You are still such a child. A child in a hero."

The two arrived to the hotel France was talking about and went inside to get the room key.

They head for the room and France lugged America in, onto the bed. "Well, _Amérique_. This is _au revoir_ for now. I have done my part, from finding you to carrying you here so you can straighten out your silly brain."

"You aren't staying?" He was surprised by France's actions because they weren't the ones America expected. Then again everything America expected in the past up to now wasn't what he had expected at all. _I shouldn't think at all then! _He thought jokingly in his mind.

France cocks one eyebrow up and a sly smile creeps on the side of his lips, "Why, _Amérique_! I did not know that you felt that way about _moi!"_ He said jokingly, but perverted at the same time.

Chills went down America's spine. He scoffs, "France, don't be a dumbass you know what I mean!" America lies on the bed looking at the ceiling listening to the still never ending falls of water landing on the roof.

France laughs and throws the keys to America, "I am leaving now _Amérique_. Unlike you, I actually plan ahead. So I do not need to take refuge in a hotel. How do you think I got to you? Surely, not by foot all the way! I was driven here, then running _ze_ rest of _ze _way to fetch you!"

France pauses and looks at America, who turns his head to look at France. France's face looked stern and serious. "Do you not realize, _monsieur_, _zat_ you could have gotten to _Angleterre _by now, but here you are, lying on a bed in a hotel just a few miles away from where your last location was, waiting another night; wondering if _Angleterre_ is even alive."

America looks away and stares back at the ceiling. _He's right... He's fucking right! I could have saved England by now, but instead I'm here! I'm useless! I... _America closes his eyes and tries collect his thoughts. _I really am an idiot; I've been acting like a kid; not thinking and ending up having others around me pay for what I've done. I might as well be a child. _America laughs softly, "Heh heh! I am such an asshole..!"

France knew all too well what America was thinking. He starts out the door holding the outside knob to close it. He looks back at America with a serious look. "_Amérique_. Make sure you bring Angleterre back alive."He smiles brightly at America to lighten the mood he had caused, "Well I bid you _adieu_!" France closes the door and walks down the hall still smiling, "Ah,_ Amérique. _It would seem that you are finally maturing." He steps outside the hotel and calls up a cab to head back to his plane to go back home.

France's last words to him somehow gave America a little reassurance, a little hope.

"_Make sure you bring Angleterre back alive."_

America smiled slightly while still looking up. _That's right, he's still alive! I know it! _He then thinks about Britain altogether. America closed his eyes to try to understand why England is, well, England. The tired American wanted to share his pain, wanted so badly to be there for him whenever that pompous gentleman needed it. But no, that prude always did things himself, not asking for assistance from anybody whatsoever, especially not from America.

Thunder clapped several times, it sounded as if it was getting closer each time. The constant rain was becoming a nuisance. It became an annoying song that was permanently held on repeat. Well, it's a fact now, _The rain always falls here._

America's body was loosening and he was able to move around better than before. He got up and started for the door, but stopped midway. _No! I have to stay here! This is about England not me! I have to throw away my pride just for tonight. I wouldn't be helping anyone if I end up dying from starvation and exhaustion on the way to Dead Man's Field. _America heads back to the bed and lies down. He didn't care that he was still in his wet clothes.

America closes his eyes mumbling, "Arthur... Would you still love me even after everything I did?" America's chest tightened as he talked. "Do you even love me? Or is it just something I wish for? A dream?" Sleep was closing in on him. "Yes... It's just a... dream..."


	3. Part 3: Do You Remember?

The Rain Always Falls Here Part 3: Do You Remember..? Let Us Reminisce.

"_America, do you remember the time when you were younger, you had that dreadful cold." Britain said easily but was a little bothered by the memory he had brought up. _

_America looks at England beside him with an uncertain look. "Which time? You have gotta be more specific with these things! I got sick all the time, everyone does, even now! I can't remember every time I get sick! " He turns his head the way it was before grinning. The both of them were sitting outside on the grass next to a lake near England's house. The sun was shining brightly and the warmth of the rays was relaxing to America and Britain. It was rare for the United Kingdom to not have rain so Britain thought a little get together with America was in order. _

_England stared at the ripples the water made from any kind of contact it had with any object. "Well, you should have remembered this one. I surely do." England's voice changed from calm to troubled sounding. "You fell into this lake while you were playing. At the time, you didn't know how to swim and the water was very deep." England's voice begins to crack, but he swallows hard so it wouldn't, he tried hard so America wouldn't notice the way he was behaving. "Luckily, I was there to save you and you didn't drown, but what If I wasn't there..?" England's voice cracks and he didn't try to stop it. _

_America looks back at England with a reassuring smile, but his eyes say otherwise. "England! Don't get all depressing now! It's not even raining and you're talking about gloomy things!" America pats England on the back and gives him a big smile. "Seriously dude! It's nothing to worry about now! Heck I'm still here right?" _

_England smiles a bit, but he couldn't help thinking about that memory. "Yes, well. I apologize for that. I guess I'm not used to this sort of weather." he sighs, "But really America. You were playing outside all the time. Even at times when I didn't know you were outside. If one of those times you went out to play when I wasn't there and you fell in... I can't even imagine what I would have done. I can't bare thinking, even the slightest thought that something terrible would have happened to you." _

_America looks at England sadly. He gives England a playful push so he would fall to his side. "Hey stop talking about sad stuff! Jeez England you're totally harshing my usually awesome, happy mood! Stop worrying about stuff!"_

_England brings himself back upright, feeling a little angry, but he smiles at America. "You twat! Don't push me! Stop acting like a whiny toddler!" He stands up to brush himself off. He looks down at America who was still sitting and smiling a stupid smile. "I know I fret a lot. I can't help that. That cold you got was just as bad as you nearly drowning! Death almost took you in both occurrences." England's face turns into a heartbreaking look as he stared at America, like he had lost the most important thing he had. "I almost lost you..."_

_America continues to look at England with sad eyes; he didn't know what to say. He stands up and faces England. "Well, it's not like that now you senile old man! I'm not a child anymore! I always tell you that! I can do things by myself and I can swim now! " _

_A smile creeps back up on Britain's face he chuckles a cheerless chuckle, "That's a laugh! Sure you can swim now, but all senseless blasted things you do every day by yourself are no better!" England sighs, "But all I'm trying to say is that I don't want anything bad to happen to you, you bloody wanker." _

_England pauses and walks over to the lake bending down and setting a hand into the water, moving his hand around disrupting the little ripples. "Just like that time you fell in here; I'll always be there to help you when you need it. I won't let you drown..." _

_He takes his hand out of the water and gets up to look at America. He smiles wholeheartedly at America who returns the smile. "Hey England. You must be a real dumbass to think I would need YOUR help!" America laughs. England is not amused, but he still smiles at America even though the reply annoyed him. "Shut up, git!" _

_America laughs. He gets down and lies on his back on the grass watching the moving clouds and thinks about what each cloud looked like. He points to one, "That one looks like a burger!" He points to another, "Oh! And that one looks like a cheeseburger!" yet another one he points to, "Holy crap! That one looks like Tony!" _

_Not knowing whether or not America is serious or not, England grins and leaves it alone. He sits back down next to America and looks towards the lake watching several leaves float around on top of the water deciding to count each one that would fall._

_One..._

_Two..._

_Three..._

_Four..._

_Five..._

"Six..."

"Seven..."

"Eight..."

"Nine..." America stops counting his ammunition, "Shit... I only have nine bullets for my M9." He yells out in aggravation. "Damn it all! When I see Prussia I want nine THOUSAND bullets going through that bastard's skull!"

America had woken up before sunrise to get ready for his trip. Though, it was still raining out so it was hard to tell if it was morning or still night by looking outside the window of his hotel room. He checked the clock when he woke up, 4:00 am.

He prepared his supplies and himself and was ready to head out. America had done some last minute checking of inventory to make sure he had everything he needed.

"Man, nine bullets won't be enough overall. England might still be fighting and I won't have enough ammunition to fight off Prussia's damn troops! One weapon is not enough either, not even close!" America sighed and he eagerly took his things and stuffed it in a backpack; that he bought at a store near the hotel, and was heading out the door.

He had completely tossed away the idea of England being dead to liven up his attitude. Not to mention all the depressing thoughts he was thinking about before he went to sleep last night. So he wanted to drive all negative feelings out his mind that way he can focus on getting England back. His mood lifted and America was just about back to his old self.

"Okay England! The Hero's coming to rescue ya!" He said anxiously. "After this seriously epic rescue mission you will no choice, but to love me!" He said out loud. He stops in his tracks and stares at the open door of his room. The feelings were back again, but he smiles, just a little though. "I'd still come for you even if you don't love me." He said softly to himself.

He went out through the door and closed it behind him, walking at a slow pace then going faster every second until he was racing through the hotel.

While running through the halls to the lobby, America made note of everything he had to make sure, once again, that he had everything he needed, "Okay!" He huffed, "I got my M9, nine bullets, dozens of bandages, alcohol rub, antibiotics, small towels, ice/heat packs, and water bottles!" There wasn't much America brought along in his backpack. There wasn't much America had in the first place. What he had on him when he bolted out England's house was his M9 with backup ammo and fifty bucks. He used up the money mostly on first aid for England and America couldn't even get a lot of that since fifty dollars doesn't go as far in the UK like it does at his place, in the US.

He takes in more breaths. "I also got a Prussia ass-kickin' motivation and of course myself, the hero!" He darted through the lobby, chucking the room keys to the worker at the front desk who cursed at him. Right out the doors he went, sprinting down the path where France had lugged him and past the spot where he had passed out.

America was determined and ready. Nothing was going to stop him from reaching England this time and he meant it! The thunder sounded as if it were cheering on America as he ran. The rain wasn't fighting against him, more like pushing him from behind to run faster, to hurry up and get to England. Lightning brightened the world and made the path more visible to see for America.

While running, he recalls back to the memory of him and Britain at a lake near his house that had happened a month ago. In the memory, the sun was shining for the first time in a long time in the United Kingdom. America thinks to what England had said to him on that day. America smiles and tears fall down his cheeks, "I'll be the one to help YOU this time Arthur... I will be the one to be there for YOU..!" He wipes away the tears with the back of his hand, "And I won't let you drown."


	4. Aternate Part: England's Storybook

The Rain Always Falls Here Alternate Part: England's Storybook

_**What is it really—the rain? Is it something more than just water falling from the sky?**_

_**It can be happiness pouring from Heaven on to those whom God smiled upon. **_

_**It can be inspiration to an artist's eyes.**_

_**It can bring the dead back to life... **_

_**...Though, that is usually not the case. **_

_**Rain can be cruel, cold, and unforgiving. It can make one feel hurt and sorrow. It laughs at you in your torment. It surrounds you, holds you; whispering in your ear, 'If you keep resisting, this pain will never go away for so long as I am still here . Stay with me and I can help you feel nothing at all. Doesn't that sound nice..?'**_

_**... But.**_

_**Is the cause really because of the rain..? **_

_**Rain can be tears, not causes of hurt—symbolism for a character in a story, but no one would have guessed at first glance. It's just rain—bad weather; not knowing the real story that lies beneath. The misery of one's feelings pouring from the skies as little clear water droplets—not all would see that. Not all would see the true emotions one would feel—the suffering that is rain.**_

_**Because rain is colorless—it is like a blank canvas. You are able to paint whatever you would like. Artists are influenced by their deepest hidden feelings; driven by their overwhelming emotions—some happier than others.**_

_**Many there are—interpretations of rain. Many more there are—personalities of rain. Although, all depending on the one who is looking. It's probably not the rain at all—just our emotions getting the best of us. **_

_**No—it is not the rain. **_

_**It doesn't cause people their pain.**_

_**It's just the only thing they have to hold them in their time of need.**_

_**

* * *

**_

Standing near an elegantly decorated, draped window, England watches the water fall lazily from the sky which grew darker as night was approaching.

He sighs for he had seen this show many, _many_ times for centuries and had, long ago, grown very weary of seeing reruns just about every day of his life and then some. The Brit yearned to change the channel, but that was, of course, impossible. He had no remote control to change anything; there was no such thing and his window wasn't a television.

He was The United Kigdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland for crying out loud! He would have thought that he'd able to change the blasted weather in his own damn country! But if he couldn't do that, what makes him think that he could change anything else?

He can't! His hurt will stay.

Just like the rain...

People would give advice to try and comfort those. As the saying goes, 'Time heals all wounds'.

England laughed out, "That is one of the most absurd statements I have ever heard..! Without a doubt irrational!" He runs a hand through his hair.

"It's nothing more than bullshit..." His words cause him to laugh again in spite of himself. "Heh... Such vulgar words... Disrespecting my own language…"

The world outside England's house had become dark, signaling that nighttime had arrived at last. Britain paces around the living room he was currently in—looking back at the window every so often.

While not paying attention to where he was walking, England bashes his leg at the corner of a side table. Being caught in surprise at the hard contact, he stumbles to the floor. "Fuck! Bloody hell!" He swore quite loudly. England winces at the pain of his leg and of his now aching body from the fall.

The feeling soon subsided and England glanced over to the table he had collided with. He got up to straighten himself and went towards the table to inspect the sides—making sure nothing was damaged, not caring at all about his well-being overall.

On top of the table was only one item, which England noticed at once. It was a framed photo of him and young America in his arms. They both had beaming smiles on their faces, they looked so... Happy...

England stares blankly at the picture as memories began playing through his head. It started out as good memories making him smile, but the farther the remembrance reel went, the closer it became from being happy memories to ones of misery.

_My new big brother England!_

_England I want to stay with you forever!_

_Wow! You made me a toy house and a soldier set! Thanks so much!_

_Sure I'll wear the suit, but it's too fancy. I guess I'll use it on special occasions._

_I am not a child anymore nor am I your little brother!_

_What I want –is freedom!_

_England… _

_You used to be so big…_

"Gyaa- ack..!" He spurts out, instantly grasping his shirt firmly on his chest directly over his heart. A lot was on England's mind and plenty of hurt began searing through his chest.

The gasping Brit's face soon turned a heartbreaking expression and he quickly looked away from the photo to be facing the window. He looked back out. The shower pounded at the window noisily and roughly, making the windowpane shake.

Was the rain laughing at him?

He scowled angrily at the sky, taking in all the drops in one long look. _How dare it laugh at me..!_ It's _probably getting a hoot out of this!_

"Bloody repulsive fluid!" He yelled fiercely.

He hated the rain. He desperately wanted it to be gone. He hated the way each raindrop was with other drops. He hated how each drop wasn't left by itself, how it was never alone. He hated how if one trickle of the rain would fall, the rest would follow to go after it—to help it. Even if they can't do one damn thing—they would try.

England hated the rain.

England _despised _the rain.

He envied the rain.

He cried because of the rain.

...

...

... He longed to be like the rain.

...

...!

!

_RAIN! RAIN! RAIN! ALWAYS THE DAMN FUCKING RAIN! EVEN THAT BLASTED WORD IS BECOMING A BLOODY PAIN IN THE ASS!_

England's look became a hurtful one, but kept staring angrily outside with his fury growing every second. "Why don't you just bleeding sod off?" He screamed turning his hands into two tight fists.

His attention fixated at each drop descending from the ebony sky—staring violently at the clear beads from when they appeared from above, to when they crashed down onto the dimly lit streets of the town.

"Curse you for always being together! Curse you for not leaving any of your own behind!" England recklessly stepped backwards to grab any object behind him.

His hand searched around from behind until he felt something hard. He immediately took a hold of the object and threw at the window aiming for the skies.

The impact made a shattering noise—glass. The item was some kind of glass.

It soon fell to the floor below the window before England could see what had shattered.

England huffed, not taking one look at the object he had thrown—glaring at the downpour.

"Damn you for going after each drop to save them if they were to fall down to their demise! Damn you to bloody hell for sharing their pain—for taking away their pain! For everything you do—all just for those you care about, knowing that each and every one of you damned raindrops that do so— will suffer! But you do it anyway! You follow them so the other wouldn't be harmed—so you can help them! To be with them when they are alone in their hurt!"

England growls, while he pants to take in short breaths from his yells, slowly calming down. "You follow the one you care about to prevent the pain they will feel..! And you know you will die in the process— just for that someone you care about..!"

His breathing returns to normal relaxing his rage. Breathing in deeply, being conscience about himself and ashamed of the way he was acting, but he didn't care.

He moves closer to the window until he is in arms length to the casement. The English country slowly lifted his hand to touch the pane—eventually resting his palm on the glass. His eyes shifted from the sky to look forward where his head faced—his face growing a soft hurt.

"Heh.." He chuckled sadly. "Well, well... You really are something aren't you..?" His words pointed towards the rain.

"Thousands of drops fall from the sky. They are all together—never alone... They all go the same direction—they all have the same fate... But they continue going the same way. It's like they _want_ chase after their loved ones—to save them before they crash, or at least…

To hurt with the ones they love… to share the pain they will feel in the end so the ones they hold near and dear to their hearts wouldn't go through it alone…

Why do you do it..?"

As wind increases from the outside, England's body trembles at the loneliness he felt. His face turns to a heartrending pained look. He wraps his arms around himself, desperate to feel another's arms around his body besides his own, closing his eyes to feel the night surround him.

Quiet, but so clear, he whispers to the rain…

"You do it because you love him enough to die for him..." He chokes back a weep so he wouldn't cry—not yet. "...Even if he isn't willing to do the same for you..." England collapses to his knees, bending over—clasping his hands on his face.

"Even if… He doesn't love you in return…"

The nation couldn't bring himself to cry. He just couldn't—not yet. _No. I can't cry. I won't..!_ Dropping his hands down from his face, England turns his head to the shattered article.

Getting up from off the floor, he goes over to the broken object on the floor. Glass fragments were scattered around. England looks at the photo in the broken frame.

He had thrown what _he _kept near and dear to _him._

England takes the photo out from the broken frame and presses it tightly to his chest—his expression still hurt and struggling to keep back tears.

"Alfred... Do you care at all..?"

* * *

The broken country withdrew to the couch near him; taking the photo with him, to lie down his tired self—mind and body. He collapsed onto it, laying an arm over his eyes.

"Rain rain go away... Come again some other day..." England sang softly to himself.

_I hate the rain._

_I love it._

_I hate it._

_I want it._

_I don't want it._

_I don't need it._

_I need it._

_I want to be like it._

_..._

_...I just want it to bugger off._

His mind went on a rampage going on and off of disagreements and agreements with himself. England honestly didn't want the rain to go away even though it constantly mocked him. When he thought right down to it, rain was the only thing he had.

If it went away, who would be with him..?

England's expression brightened a bit, though not in a cheerful way, but in ridicule. Taking his arm off his eyes, he chuckled slightly causing a small smile to form on his lips. "What a ridiculous question..." He mumbled to himself.

The answer was simple—No one.

He would be all alone.

And England knew it.

He turned his head and began staring out his window once again watching the droplets crash to the ground. His eyes gradually closed feeling them to be warm and watery, but he forced himself to not let tears escape from his eyes. England's feelings fought inside his whole being as exhaustion soon called in sleep to overtake him.

As England slept, pitter patter noises continued to hit on the window, flooding the sound throughout the house. He tossed and turned in his sleep—mumbling his agony out loud, but with no one to hear. Against his will if he were awake, tears began forming from the corners of his eyes—one by one they fell onto the floor.

"Alfred…"

* * *

_**Ding-Dong! Ding-dong!**_

England's eyes were still closed as the chime kept ringing, seemingly to be unaware of the sound.

_**Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!**_

He groaned at the disturbance of his slumber, refusing to open his eyes. A rather restless slumber, but he actually slept nonetheless. This was the first time in what feels like forever.

_**Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!**_

England snapped his eyes wide open growling and grabbed two small couch cushions from the sofa he was residing on. He pinned a pillow to each ear in an attempt to block out the ringing.

_The visitor will soon assume that the resident of this house is unavailable and will eventually leave. All I have to do is make like no one is home and block out that ringing!_ England thought.

He felt guilty for leaving a visitor in the rain like that, it wasn't like him at all, but he was too upset to get up. His body felt heavy and his eyes were puffy. It had appeared that he had been crying in his sleep. And after he tried so hard to be strong, his tries were wasted. He didn't want anybody to see him in his current state.

_**Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!**_

"Damn..." He cringed at the sound, having it actually echo through the pillows to his ears louder with than without the cushions.

_**Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!**_

_**Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!**_

_**Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!**_

_**Ding-Dong! Ding-Dong!**_

"ALRIGHT! I'M COMING BLAST IT!" Hollered England from the couch as he quickly sat up and released the pillows. He quickly went to the mirror near his desk to check himself and to make himself more presentable. It didn't take long until the doorbell was heard again.

_**... DING-DONG!**_

"I said I'll be right there!" England yelled back towards the front door. He finally deemed himself looking good enough to meet standards and went to the door to open it.

"Yes? May I help you?" He said in a polite, proper manner—thinking it would convince the guest that he wasn't the one who had rudely screamed. England wanted to keep his perfect poise and gentlemanlike stature no matter how much he didn't feel like it. And he really didn't feel like it, or doing anything for that matter.

"Uh yeah, I got a letter for a—Mr. Kirkland." The odd man said flatly holding a white envelope to the, now angered once again, England. Britain noticed that the man didn't have an English accent, somewhere along the lines of German? He took note that the man was definitely not from the United Kingdom.

Irritation was twitching at the side of England's eyes, but did the best he could to keep it restrained. He didn't know who this guy was or why the hell a letter was so damn important for him to keep pushing on the doorbell button until the ringing was annoying enough to be replaced, but there certainly was going to be some lessons on manners!

"Young man! Is a letter really that important for you to be standing outside my door pressing on that God-forsaken button in the pouring rain until my ears purposely go deaf just to stop listening to the blasted ringing!" He coldly stated. His eyebrows furrowed inward indicating to the man that he was, indeed, mad.

"And another thing, it is very rude to be constantly ringing it like that anyways! I have a damn mailbox! Instead you stood here waiting for me to get to the door! Bloody hell and it's raining too!" After his little rant, England composed himself back to his polite ways.

The man still held out his arm to England, letter in hand. He scoffed at England, slightly annoyed himself for having to put up with a short tempered country.

England quickly grabbed the letter and jammed it into his pant pocket grumbling uncomprehendable words and curses underneath his breath.

All the man heard England say was, 'Etiquette', 'Rude', and 'Wanker'. The words made the man sigh in annoyance to add into the even more annoyance of England and the guy himself. England shot a piercing glare at the man.

The odd character shook his head and raised both his hands in a defeat and peace offering way while stepping back a few feet. "Hey man! Don't shoot the messenger! I was just following orders. I was told that, that letter was urgent and was given strict orders that, that urgent letter you stuffed in your pockets needed to be delivered _directly _to the recipient!" He turned on his heel and walked off into the rain back to a cab that apparently was waiting in town.

England sighed and stepped back inside his house, closing the door from behind him. He leaned back against the door staring up at the ceiling thinking of nothing really in particular.

With his position remaining the same for a few minutes, he looked down on the hardwood floor sliding down, back still against the door and sat down sighing again. He brought his hand up to his forehead as if trying to strain away a headache. There was tightening feelings all over his body, it hurt. He just realized how sore he was and how much his body ached with each tiny movement.

In an instant, England quickly remembered the supposedly _urgent _letter. He scoffed while digging his hand into his pocket to get the little bugger out.

_Urgent my arse! Honestly, if there was something serious and had an 'urgent' message that needed to come to me, a call or an email would be more efficient and less time would be taken! IF, it was of grave importance there would BE no time to send a damn letter!_ England growled in aggravation at the rationalizing he had just finished. He neatly opened the envelope to read what was inside:

England,

This is a demand I want from you. Agree to come battle me at Dead Man's Field with my army of a thousand. With you bringing one weapon and no military. That's correct, come with only yourself. You must fight us as valiantly as you can against us.

To make things easier to comprehend of what I want from you is…

I want, you! I want you to let me take over the United Kingdom, but let's make it interesting; it'll be more fun! For me anyway! I want to see you get annihilated by my army while you're at you best, trying to survive! As soon as I tire of fighting you, you will also agree to let me kill you on the spot. If you don't accept these demands I will not hesitate to destroy your precious America! You and I both know that I am more than capable of doing it! You have one day to respond! If I don't hear from you by then, then I'll take it as a rejection and kill America! I don't take rejection very well!

Prussia

England read the letter over and over again while his heart sank. A flurry of different emotions stormed from inside him; anger, fatigue, sadness, fear, anxiety, hate, love, protectiveness it frenzied around and about haphazardly in his tired being.

He hated the situations of 'give and take' he was always in because it was more of him giving than anything else.

He was tired of being in those situations because they were always on a one sided deal; he'd do the best he can to help that fat oaf Yankee whenever he needed it. In fact he'd do ANYTHING for America, but that was all that it was. He would do anything for his precious America even after all the shit that git caused him, but America just didn't seem like the type to do the same back.

Could he have blamed him though? He caused his former colony to rebel and create a great distance between them. Sure they were still friends and such, but the relationship the two has feels so close…!

Yet... So far...

Give and take—that's all that it was between the two nations. England gives; America takes and takes and takes and takes! No sign of gratitude whatsoever! But America was worth it, worth it all. England wanted to be like rain. He will be like rain.

He will give up everything for Alfred.

_Because I love him enough to die for him… Even if he isn't willing to do the same… _

_Even if he doesn't love me in return…_

_

* * *

_

_**The way each drop goes in the same direction. It's like they are following each other. Notice how they are falling... It's like each drop is chasing another, trying to get them back where it's safe. **_

_**Although, each one falls, and each one crashes down onto the cold ground—not one is to face the fate alone, because they are all together, all falling the same way, all wanting to share the same fate as the ones they love. **_

_**Rain is not selfish like us, but yet they all receive what they do not deserve. **_

_**But rain is just—rain. Nothing more, nothing less. **_

_**It's just the weather… Or is it?**_

_**

* * *

**_

Hellooooos~ beautiful people of the world! I am so sorry that it took sooooo long to put this up! It was going on and on and_ I_ just couldn't go on! I'm sorry! After sometime I just realized how much I effin love Prussia and felt bad that I made him the bad guy….I cried… Not really, but I felt bad and wished that I had used Russia, a made up character or something…. =_=

Actually, The next chapter where it goes back to America was written before this, but I felt that this chapter needed to be written to show England's motives and such. I know I said somewhere that I would be putting two chapters at once (I'm sorry that I didn't. Truly I am! D:), but the next chap needed some work and there are some tiffs with it (Not to mention it being equally as long and difficult to write as this one… =_=) So please hang on for me and I promise to put it up as soon as possible!

Don't worry this story is almost done. And you won't have to wait long

NAO REVIEW! IF YOU REALLY WANT THE NEXT CHAPTERS YOU WILL REVIEW AND MAKE SURE THAT THERE ARE A LOT REVIEWS WHEN I LOG BACK ON HERE! IM NOT PLAYIN! .

Because you guys help me write. So without any people supporting me I don't have the strength or will to go on… *sobs*

Oh and those who are reading _Britannian Idiot, American Idiot_. A few things I want to say—One: You lucky dogs. That story is going much faster than this one xD I plan on putting up a new chapter for that story every 2 weeks, give or take a few days. But I hope you're enjoying it so far :D

TWO!: I need reviews for that too if you want me to continue it xD I plan for it to be pretty long so I need all the help I can get.

*bows* thank you for your love and support for this asian girl, It brings tears to my eyes :'D

*sniffles* P-Please r-review…. P-Please…? *whimpers*


	5. Part 4: Good Night My Love

The Rain Always Falls Here Part 4: Good Night My Love

Allo Allo~! I'm back! :D As I have said to Phamenia—this is up before midnight (central time in the US anyways xD)! Yays! I hope yous likeys it! :DDDD

This story is relatively short, but sweet nevertheless! :D Well I hope anyway.

This chapter took FOREVER! And I couldn't figure out how to make it all go smoothly and not so complicated (as I did with the last chapter… =.= It's so damn hard to think when you're outta ideas…) plus trying to add more things to not make it seem like it was rushed… =.=

This was heavily motivated by Sleep Well My Angel by We Are The Fallen :D It's a beautiful song—go listen to it. :3

Sooo…! Without further ado—here is chapter 4.

Enjoy~!

* * *

It always looked as if it was always night time in The United Kingdom. The world seemed to be always dark.

Maybe it was the rain—yes it's the rain, which was yet another thing that always happens. It was always raining there. Damn rain...

The repetition of saying so became more than monotonous for America, becoming more than a headache that descends from the sky to him. Probably everyone would feel the same way if they went days on end with nothing, but falling water to stare at— nothing but never ending tears.

America's lungs screamed, forcing him to stop running and to take a breather. "Damn..." He huffed, "It's still so far..." Panting and taking in deeper breaths, America bends over placing his hands on his knees to relax his body.

The blue eyed nation had been running nonstop to reach Dead Man's Field, but the destination appeared to be growing farther and farther away the more he would run. His energy was running on low along with the hope he had somehow retained when he began his journey from the hotel.

"_Make sure you bring Angleterre back alive."_

America looks up still panting and gasping for more air whilst France's words play through his head over and over—America _will_ get him back alive. As his eyes looked to the skies, he cringes at the rain landing on his face. No longer was it soothing as he initially thought.

England, for years that were far too many to keep track of, had been tormented by hurt and even more so after America had declared his independence.

For any real persons, they would have emotions to express these saddened feelings. Anyone would be crying if they were unhappy to an extent; or just kept it hidden well—keeping it bottled up it inside. People would, more or less, shed a tear or two now and then. There was no helping it.

England was like this and was always living every single one of his days in despair. He cried when no one was around. He hid it when in company by disguising it behind a misleading face, a mask if you will, to conceal his current stage, but his heart cried on the inside.

Maybe by putting on a fake smile, it will convince the world that he was alright. Or maybe it would convince himself that the smile _is_ real and that he can influence himself that he's happy by doing just that, even though he didn't mean it.

Oh how his heart ached, oh how it wept... And no one was there to prevent them from tracing down his delicate light face—no one was there to stop them from going down.

He was alone he was hurt the most. Yet he still looked over America, trying his absolute best to make sure no harm comes to him before and after the Independence War. Sure there are times when England's actions and remarks are overreacted and harsh, but it was all for the idiot American's sake and he wouldn't let anybody get in his way of protecting him.

Although, as strong as he is, even England needs to be lent a hand. No one can do everything on their own—no one.

So here's the all time question: Why does it always rain here?

"It always rains here because... You're always crying." _England's always crying... _America noticed that his breathing became stable. He rises up from his current position—standing firm on his two feet.

"I can't stop now, I have to keep going! Dammit I'm America! I'm the frickin totally kickass HERO!" He begins running again. America's every thought was about Britain which helped him keep going.

Dead Man's Field wasn't far now. Even the storm knew he was going to make it, but if the tempest of rain, lightning, and thunder gather together, can they honestly say that England will be the same? Will Arthur make it also?

* * *

Dead Man's Field was straight ahead. America could see the barren wasteland from atop the hill that had formed from the path he had run on. Wind blew all around making howling noises through the cracks of the land.

"Finally!" He pants and gasps for air—somewhat tired, but filled with energy yet again.

"That took forever! I knew a totally awesome hero like me can make it! Now I can fucking kill Prussia!" America puts his hands on his hips and flashes a confident smile towards the field.

He then takes both his hands and cups it over his mouth to have it in a sort of megaphone like manner. "You hear that Prussia? America is here you bastard! And I will fucking kill you!"

America races towards Dead Man's Field recklessly, trying to find England and Prussia—assuming that the battle was still going on. He starts running across the field turning his head in all directions— searching for Britain.

"Hey England! Where are ya? Dude the hero's here to save the day!" America hollered out as he ran. Due to the redundant downpour of rain, it was a fact that the ground would be wet.

A little voice that sounded a lot like England's was yelling at the stupid American in the back of his mind, but he was too preoccupied and it sounded a whole lot like a lecture he heard many times a long while ago and he didn't want to rehear it. Something about water, ground, and slippery?

A couple of times America almost slipped from the little puddles on the ground. He soon started to listen to what his England sounding voice was trying to tell him, but alas, him being America he began to not listen, again—until he actually did slip and went down with a splash on his bottom.

"Ow ow ow ow! Fucking hell that really hurt!" America cried out in the impact of his began squirming in how much in really hurt and wriggled around in pain. He could have sworn that he heard the little voice say, _'Told you so ya git...'_

_Okay! Okay! I'm listening! I'll walk!_ With actually being serious this time about following directions, America stood back up and began _walking_ through the field.

America keeps on searching and running around the field trying to find England—actually he wanted to find anyone at this point.

Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, then twenty—nothing.

A half an hour had gone by and America still hadn't found Britain—or anybody for that matter. "England! Where the hell are you?" Screamed America to the open, inhospitable surroundings.

He starts scanning the field to find any place that would seem like a good place to hide or to use as a shield from bullets.

As luck would have it, America spotted several rock slabs large enough for three or four people to hide behind it not too far off. America grins, keeping that location in mind, and starts looking around again.

His attention is caught at the sight of what appears to be some sort of paper blowing with the wind. It had come from the direction of the rock slabs.

America strides over to the drifting article to grab it—opening his hand to take a look of what he had captured.

It was a photo of him when he was younger in England's arms, both smiling. The photo itself was torn all around the sides and wrinkled. It was also singed, by the looks of the burnt parts—most likely caused by a bomb.

His eyes frantically turned back to the gathering of rocks and runs toward them— tightening his grip on the photo before shoving it into his back pocket.

_Fuck! No! This can't be right! England can't be... _America arrives to the gathering of rocks, immediately looking behind them. His eyes widen with his expression becoming dejected and his mouth slightly agape.

America whispers almost silently. "Dead..."

Right before him was England fatally wounded... Lying unmoving on the ground with his back against the rock and his head down. The wounded nation's uniform was torn all over his body revealing wide open gashes. Blood was pooled around him and continued to escape from the wounds.

America quickly goes to the fallen country and collapses to the ground next England, taking him into his arms. He anxiously looks down at him wide eyed with shock. "England! Dude wake up! Hey!"

He tries shaking England compellingly, but also being oh so careful, thinking it would miraculously awaken him and cause the startled Brit to thrash about and try to escape from America's grasp for being so rough on trying to wake him up or for England to insult him, to scold him for being out here with no umbrella again. America wanted something—anything! But 'something' was not what he received from Britain.

The younger country tries to adjust himself to get a look at the other's body, but starts to lose his balance. He uses a hand to hold on to England and the other to steady himself from behind—making contact with the Englishman's blood below them. America slowing turned his head—unwillingly looking down at the liquid. He shivers from the sight.

_There's so much blood... You lost so much blood..!_ America groans from the churning feeling he was beginning to feel in his stomach.

Though America had seen a great deal of spilled blood throughout the years— some caused by his own hands and some greater than this—but it was England's blood that was on America. It was Arthur's blood that he was feeling in between his fingers..!

It was the only person he would never want to end up like this.

America shakes the feeling away and mentally slaps himself to focus on what's going on now.

Nervously, America lowers his head down to England's chest to hear for a heartbeat.

None was heard.

This alarmed America—everything was gradually turning him into a nervous wreck. He was struggling to keep his head in order.

_Shit..! Okay... Maybe I can't hear anything because of this thickass uniform he's wearing and the damn rain..! So listening won't help..._

He takes England's wrist to feel for a pulse.

... A slight beat was felt.

There was still a chance—England is still alive! But barely though, and America needed to act quickly.

The hasty American hurriedly, but carefully shifts England to a laying position to set the Brit's head on his lap. America then takes off his backpack and starts rummaging through the inside—he was hoping to find anything that could help England, but there was nothing that could be of use in this dire situation.

America started panicking—he had brought everything _but _the items needed to aid England. "Shit! Dammit there has to be_ something_ in here that'll help!" America kept fumbling through his bag—not knowing exactly_ what_ he wanted to find.

He stops looking through his pack—it was useless. It was to be expected that there was nothing helpful. America looks back down to England who was lying on his lap—taking him up to hold on to him once again, with his eyes shouting out denial and anxiousness while looking down at the unmoving country's color drained, blood stained face.

"Come on dude! England quit screwing with me!" America's lips form to a desperate smile. "I'll take you back to your place where I'll call all the best medical help you need and you'll be back to your boring tea-drinking self!

And I'll stay beside you when you're in your bed sleeping so no bastard comes to abduct you! No fucking way—not when America's around!

Then when you wake up in the morning and you see me asleep at your bedside you'll beat me on the head with a book and call me a git—yelling at me to get out right?" He chuckles nervously which soon faded away along with his forced smile.

America's chest tightens. His eyes began to feel hot and watery as he kept looking at the other. "You can't die! You're gonna still be alive right? Say it!" Of course—England didn't say a word. He didn't move at all.

"Hey England! It's raining and I have no fucking umbrella again! Come on call me an idiot! Call me a git! Call me a twat, an idiot, a wanker—even though I don't have a fucking idea what the hell a wanker is—just say something!"

He was getting mad. America's face felt hot and bothered by everything. "ANYTHING!" He yells out to the other nation.

Panting from the strain, America inhaled several deep breaths—trying to calm down as much as he can.

He bows his head and closes his eyes. "Say anything..." He says quietly more to himself than to England. After a short moment, America slowly opened them again to the sound of the wind whistling through the lifeless terrain.

The picture America had found and shoved in his back pocket of his jeans had slipped out, with the wind blowing the photo in plain view for America to see. He winces—the picture was painful to look at.

Looking back down at the seemingly lifeless nation, America tries to feel for a pulse again.

This time he felt nothing.

America solemnly lets go of the other's wrist and lifts him up to his body to close in the gap between them for a love filled, but broken embrace. America's arms were wrapped around the Englishman with his hand grasped the back of England's head.

Tears fall down America's face uncontrollably, sobbing for his fallen dearest.

"Arthur... I'm sorry..." His voice cracks, "I'm so, so sorry..." He chokes on the words. "This is my fault! MY DAMN FAULT!"

America shuts his eyes, burying his face into England's hair— holding him tighter. "I wasn't there for you when _you_ needed it! After everything you did for me and I can't even do this one fucking thing for you! I couldn't save you from drowning..! Some hero I am! I can't even save the one person I fucking love!" His screaming sobs grew louder sending echoes through the field.

"I'M NO DAMN HERO!" America cries harder—holding England tighter. He wasn't willing to let go of the person most important to him.

He won't ever let go...

* * *

The rain pounded down continually on the two countries. America uses his body to try to shield England from the cruel rain, still holding Arthur— keeping him in his embrace.

Hours dragged on with the two countries keeping in the same position on the wet ground from rainwater mixing in with blood.

America hadn't stopped holding on to England. He wanted to hold him forever—to be with him forever. He had stopped crying an hour before, but to him it feels like it kept going. He could still feel them run down his face.

Or is it just the rain..? Was he just feeling the rain..? There's always rain...

America looks down sadly at the man in his arms with his swollen bloodshot eyes taking a hand and lightly caressing the side of England's face. The Englishman was cold to the touch. Small cuts were on Britain's cheeks—blemishing them with red.

America's sad expressionless face turned into a sad smile. "You're so beautiful... You still look so damn beautiful..." Tears involuntarily fall from the American's swollen eyes—hating how England's angelic face was scratched... Though he still looked like one.

He lowers his head to England's— touching their foreheads together, humming a familiar tune like he had done before._ "_Rain rain go away... Come again some other day..." America sang softly, choking on every word he was able to say without breaking down.

As the rain kept on going mercilessly down, America feels the drops pounding harder. Each one was digging into his back.

He growls and lifts his face with tears not stopping—glaring fiercely at the raining sky. "STOP FUCKING RAINING! CAN YOU GIVE HIM A BREAK FOR ONCE? HASN'T HE FUCKING SUFFERED ENOUGH? DAMMIT! LEAVE HIM ALONE!" America cries harder, closing his eyes and burying his face in England's soft hair.

"You probably hate me! You _do_ hate me! I'm such an asshole! Why the hell would you put up with someone like me? Why the fucking hell would you do this for me?"

"..."

"... Idiot..."

America opens his eyes suddenly at the sound of a voice that was not his own. He lifts is head away from England's—lowering his arms to look down at the country below him.

England was smiling up at America with eyes half lidded. America could see they were bloodshot and swollen...

... But they were open..!

They sparkled…

They were beautiful…

He was beautiful...

...

He was alive..!

England takes a hand and places it on the side of America's face. "... I did this because I _love_ you... Everything I did for you was because I love you..." Britain inhaled deeply.

The Brit took a look at the younger nation's glasses and clicked his tongue in disapproval, "Look at this..." England said rubbing the side of America's cheek with his thumb closely to his glasses. "Your lenses are cracked... Idiot." He repeated the insult teasingly, coating the words in a warm smile.

America hadn't noticed he had broken his glasses back at England's house—he had forgotten and that wasn't important. He still kept crying, raising his hand and puts it over England's that was on the side of his face, rubbing it gently.

"Why the hell do you have that picture..?" America said softly.

England chuckled a bit. The slight laugh hurt him, but he restrained showing it—he didn't want America to cry any more than he already had.

"It was the only one I had that was close enough to you holding me." England breathed in heavily—wincing at the movement. "But it looks more like me holding _you_ since I was the one carrying you... " The wounded nation coughed out hard—blood came out from his mouth. He cried out in pain he felt everywhere. It was bad enough that his body hurt him from just breathing.

America panicked. "Arthur!" He still couldn't do anything. America began to carefully writhe out from underneath England to get up and get help.

England forced himself to grab a hold of the other's arms to prevent him from moving. "Alfred... I forbid you to go... Please just stay here..." He started to cry. "P-Please... just hold me..."

America started to cry from seeing the other so, though he tried his best to speak confidently. "Arthur I can't… I have to get you help!" He began to sob. "I-I didn't bring any damn thing that could help you! Arthur let me go!" America begged attempting to pull away from clutching hands, but couldn't bring himself to move. He looked desperately at England with sad sapphire eyes trying so hard to say that he has to go.

"No! I won't allow it!" England chokes on his words. "Don't leave me again! Not again!" He coughs out more blood causing him to shout out in pain. His closing wounds reopened causing even more of his blood to release from him.

"Gyaaah...! Aack!" Britain cried out as he clutched his sides where the wounds were opening—he had already lost too much blood before.

Another surge of pain went through England making him squirm and fidget causing him to bleed even more and faster.

"Arthur!" America cried out. He was scared, really scared—he was scared of losing England. He knew why Arthur didn't want him to leave and it made him just as sad, but it also made him mad at the other for not letting him go get help for what that damn Prussia did to him.

_Prussia..._ America growled darkly. "That bastard..!" His anger began to rise.

"Hey America! What are you? A damn dog or something? What the hell is with the growling?" Was called out from somewhere near the two countries.

America growled again at the sound of the voice—he knew whose voice that was.

"Heh! Aw well shit! I think 'bitch' is a more fitting name for you than 'dog'!" Wicked laughter was heard—sounding to be coming closer. The person came in sight and stood just a few feet in front of England and America.

England had locked his eyes shut, obvious reflex from the agonized pain he was feeling, but opened one eye to see who was there. Both his eyes snap open. He tried his best to glare at the person.

In a strained but firm voice the Brit said, "Well speak of the devil..."

The two nations just stared at the one in front of them as the sound of rain raised the tension between nations—as the pitter patter of drops flooded all around them through the dark atmosphere.

"Prussia..." America growled the name out of his mouth. "Fucking bastard!"

The silver haired nation smirked at the two—resting his hands on his hips. He in return was also wounded very badly—a couple of gashes all around his body—but not as terrible as Arthur's. It looked like they didn't even bother him—because in truth, they didn't as long as he wasn't hit anymore.

There were so many things he wanted to scream out to Prussia—there were so many things he wanted to _do_ to Prussia for hurting his Arthur! He wanted to beat the asshole deep into the ground far enough to meet face to face with the devil himself.

America wanted so badly to make the amused Prussian pay for what he did, but England was still laying on him and he didn't want to put him in anymore hurt than he already is, but he still had to do something. He knew that if he just sat there, Prussia would go for England and America couldn't let that happen. He won't let that happen again—not again!

Even though England refused for America to leave—he had to. America began to act quickly— before Arthur would notice what he was doing— by pulling out his M9 from his pack and hiding it in his coat pocket then grabbing the backpack itself. He lifted England's head gently and swiftly switched places with his backpack—having England to lie on his bag instead of his lap.

"Wait!" England called out—realizing what had happened. America had to ignore the other's calls—he got up and stood a few feet in front of the smirking nation.

America stood firmly with his hands clenched—glaring at Prussia, having determined blue eyes meet fiery red. "Prussia—I will fucking kill you for what you did to Arthur!" Without thinking he darted towards the Prussian with a fist in air—ready to punch Prussia's face in.

With the other being caught off guard America succeeded in doing so causing the other country to start falling backwards, but caught himself before he lost his balance. Prussia looked mischievously at America and laughed like a mad man as blood ran down his nose and the side of his mouth. He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand and looked at the blood with a sinister smile formed on his lips and flashing in his eyes.

"Hahaha! Is that all you got _bitch?" _Prussia retorted emphasizing 'bitch'. "My awesomeness got you beat! The proofs all at little, I'm-A-Lying-Asshole-Who-Hid-Extra-Arms-In-My-Outta-Date-Clothes, over there!" He yelled out pointing a finger to England who was staring angrily at Prussia.

America grabbed the other man's arm he was using to point at Arthur. "Leave him out of this! This is between you and me now! Not him! Got that?" He tightened his grip, digging his fingers into the other nation's arm until he broke through the uniform and into skin.

Prussia immediately takes his arm back as soon as he felt his skin puncture—having blood draw out. He grins while pulling up the sleeve to look at the American's mark. "Well then. I guess there's no other way to end this. Shame..."

He rolls his sleeve back down and looks at America mockingly. "I was hoping for this to be a civilized argument, but I guess that's not going to happen." He immediately jumps back a few feet from the other and takes out two handguns he had strapped behind him so the others wouldn't see and uses both hands to point the two at the American. "So let's settle this like men—shall we?"

England growled at the sight of_ his_ two handguns Prussia was holding in his hands. He had taken all of Arthur's weapons after the poor Englishman had reached his limit and collapsed against the stones at the end of their intense battle. With Prussia already badly wounded—along with England— he had retreated with England's weaponry and went back to his base to rest up—He knew America was coming.

The silver haired nation took notice at the vicious look from England and smirked to the side."Haha! Did cha miss these?" He said tilting both guns to inward then back out again, "Don't even try to take fucking awesome me on—especially in your pathetic condition!" Prussia laughs maniacally and sets each gun, making double clicking noises.

"I told you to leave him out of this you bastard!" America hissed, taking out his gun from his jacket pocket and pointing towards the laughing nation. "Or I will fucking blow your brains out!"

Prussia moves his attention back to the America, then the M9, and then back to America again. He snickers before bursting into mocking laughter yet again. He shifts his weight around side to side—trying to prevent himself from bending over in total hysteria, still holding up the weapons.

"Are you screwing with me? You think that's enough to kill me? That lying sonofabitch over there—" Prussia took advantage of this and aimed a gun towards England whilst the other was still pointed to America, "Shot me multiple times with his semi-auto and these exact handguns and even started off a fucking C4! If I weren't so awesome—and split before any real damage could happen— I would've blown up along with half of my troops! So don't tell me you can defeat me with just that piece of shit because I just survived hell!"

"You don't know what hell is! You think _you_ lived through hell?" America had noticed when Prussia moved his gun position to be aimed to England—he tightened his hold on his own gun. "_Arthur's_ been through hell and back in his whole fucking life—so don't tell _me_ that you went through the same because. ..Idea!"

Prussia sniggered shaking his head, "Don't be a dumbass—Oh too late!" He chuckles a bit.

"Fuck off you bastard!" America took one step forwards, grasping tightly at his weapon and clutching his other into a fist.

Prussia's face changes entirely into seriousness and growls at the other. "Enough of this shit! I will make sure that one of you will die–today..!" He shot several bullets with both guns–aimed at England and the other at America.

America's reflexes immediately reacted—barely dodging a bullet, having it pass by him an inch from the side of his head and the others that were coming at him shot past his body parts, but hitting his jacket in many different places. He jerked around in fear of knowing that the other bullets were shot at Arthur.

"Arthur!"

England remained lying on the ground, his head resting on America's backpack with his eyes wide open in terror of the bullets—all had missed England by only a few inches. America sighed in relief—_It didn't hit him…But it almost did..!_ Prussia wasn't that bad of a shot—he could easily make his target on the next try, but America wasn't going to let that happen.

America's moment of checking was set to his disadvantage for Prussia had run up to him to hit him with the handle of the handguns. Luckily Alfred reacted in time to jump to his side away from the strike.

Prussia growled and pointed the weapons at America once again forcing the other to stop in his tracks to not risk getting shot. America points his weapon in return and they were back where they had started in the beginning of this fight.

Alfred's eyes moved to the open patches of Prussia's uniform underneath his arms—blood was dripping down hitting the ground along with the water drops. He can't last long.

The American needed to stop Prussia at all costs—right now he needed to distract him, to catch him off guard just once! One chance is all America needs.

He turns his head back to the other nation with his gun still pointed at the Prussian. America suddenly darts to his side, running the direction away from England so he wouldn't be a part of this battle—hopefully Prussia will follow along and run after America.

But fuck! He didn't and instead Prussia childishly began trotting over towards the wounded England. America panicked, but kept a steady mind to think of a new plan—but his arms said otherwise and shot at Prussia several times, only five finding their target on the other nation's arm, thigh, and waist.

"Sh-shi—fuck..!" Prussia doubled over in pain that was added to his already wounded and sore body—he sure talks a whole deal, but that was all for show. "Dammit…!" He groaned in pain as he dropped the weapons and fell to one knee.

America—shocked at his involuntary action, but satisfied with the outcome—ran back to the other nations and stood defensively in front of England with Prussia down on one knee a couple of yards ahead.

The defending superpower lifted his M9 once again to point at the Prussian. _This is it… _He pulled the trigger and sent a bullet shooting to the other. Prussia brought his body back upright again just in time for the bullet to shoot through his chest—hitting the largest wound that didn't begin to close up causing insane amounts blood to gush out of him.

"Fuck…" Prussia swore and stood up with eyes-half lidded and began swaying dizzily due to the loss of blood. "Y-You can't kill m-me..! I-I'm fucking too awesome to die—and you know it..!" The nation fell forward and collapsed to the ground—blood began pooling around the body.

Minutes pass as England and America watched the other through pouring rain—Prussia hasn't moved.

_Is this… the end..? Arthur is finally safe..._

_Arthur..! _

America turns around and goes over to England. Getting down on his knees, America kneels near the Englishman's head and lifts the other man into his arms. He looks down at the wounded country with fear and love gleaming from his glassy blue eyes.

"Arthur… I have to get you help… If I move you your wounds will open back up and lose even more blood…" America looks at the other nation pleadingly. "Please… You need help… I don't want to lose you…" His voice hitched and tears begin to well up in his eyes.

England could see this and nods his head forcefully—it hurt him, his neck being in pain along with the rest of his body and America leaving again, but for once it wasn't the bad kind of leaving. "I-I understand… Do what you must…" England muttered, shifting his eyes to the side away from America's.

America nodded in return and started to get up, but was stopped by a hand holding onto the sleeve of his now ruined bomber jacket. He looked back at England who was looking back sadly, "Don't take too long… Please come back to me quickly…"

The tears that threatened America's eyes fell down his cheeks—he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Standing up straight and strong he looked down at England and flashed his famous smile. "Don't worry! I'll be back as soon as I ca—"

"America look out!" England suddenly cried out, pointing out to the field as he instantly gathered all the strength he had left to get up off the cold, wet, blood matted ground and got in front of the confused Alfred.

The American didn't know what hit him—or what didn't hit him. He couldn't comprehend what had just happened until he turned around to see England falling backwards into him. He caught the other nation before he hit the earth. America looked down at the country he caught in his arms and his eyes wide in horror of what he saw.

As England's head fell back and rested on America's chest, he could see a bullet shot hit straight at Arthur's heart.

America turns his head to the direction where the bullet had came from and saw Prussia still on his stomach on the ground with his head lifted slightly and an arm outstretched with one of the guns in his hand aimed towards America's own chest.

Prussia chuckled and cursed beneath his breath. "Well aw shit… I missed…" He laughs a little harder having it be strained. "But I got something out of it… I'm just… That…Awesome…" He last said then dropped his entire being back down—completely lifeless.

America's mouth opens to scream out, but nothing came out. He collapses to his knees and takes up England once again. The Englishman's eyes were closed and all color had drained from his body which became limp.

"Arthur! No oh God! Arthur! No please don't die! Don't die on me! Please don't leave me!" Tears fall uncontrollably fall from America's eyes.

"I love you so much! Please don't die! I can't take one damn second knowing that you're gone! Please—don't leave me! I'm sorry for all the stupid fucking things I do! I'll do better! I promise! Just please don't die!" America closes his eyes, unable to keep looking at the one who sacrificed himself for him, and continued to cry.

More time passes and America continues to cry with his eyes shut tightly, but opens them to the feel of a hand on the side of his face. "A-Arthur..?" America stuttered looking cautiously down at the other man.

England's breathing was shallow—very shallow. He gently rubs the side of America's cheek near his glasses. He chuckles lightly, "You're still in need of new lenses…Idiot…" England slowly brings his face up to America's and presses their lips together into a love-filled kiss.

America continues to cry while he brings England up closer to him and kisses him back passionately—his hand tenderly tracing the patterns of England's Independence War uniform—_that war..._

England breaks the kiss and smiles at America. He breathes in carefully and out slowly, "I do these things because I love you… I told you that and that's final. I will always love you… I'd give up my life just for you to be alright…" England's breathing becomes very thin and rests back down and moves his attention to the side, "Even if you wouldn't so the same… Even if you don't love me…"

America suddenly embraces England—surprising the Brit, but not from the pain of his wounds, America was careful not to hurt the other. "! Don't ever say that I don't—because I do! And don't you forget it!"

While still being in shock, tears start falling down from England's emerald eyes. He smiles warmly and hugs the other country back tightly no matter how much it hurt him because of his injuries.

"Git... Why would I want to forget that..?" England said softly. His hold around America became less and less firm. He rested his head on other's shoulder and hid his face at the crook of America's neck smelling everything that was his America—his Alfred.

"Alfred..?" England said weakly—his arms struggled to keep their hold around the other nation.

"Yeah Arthur..?" America choked as tears started to form at the bottom of his eyes—he knew what was going to happen, but couldn't stand the thought.

"I'm so tired..." England replied just as weak as before—he dug his face deeper into the American.

America began crying and held on to England closer and tighter to make up the embrace he hadn't given the Englishman in years. He chuckled sadly while he cried, "No... You can't right now... Alright..? You might die in your sleep..." He chuckled again sadly as he pointed out the obvious of a future event that was to come.

"But I'm so tired Alfred..." England said—barely audible to America's ears.

America sobbed harder and choked on his cries—he knew there was nothing that could be done now. This was it...

He held on to England even closer and tighter, using a hand to run through England's soft hair. He brought England down just a bit and placed gentle butterfly kisses at England's cheeks then a soft one at the other's lips.

America brought England back up into the embrace again and sobbed harder, "Arthur... I love you so much..." His voice hitched and held on tighter.

England chuckled softly, "I love you too... And I always will..." He yawns softly and very painfully, but didn't show it.

"Wake me up later okay..?"England asked quietly. He was lightheaded and every second was a struggle for him to breathe—with his heart barely beating.

He chuckled slightly with tears trailing down freely—rubbing the other's back, "Okay... But don't get mad at me when you wake up all cranky..." He chuckled sadly as tears kept fall down.

England nodded slightly, moving his head to rest on America's broad chest—Alfred felt so safe. He smiled into the American's body and whispered, "I love you... Good night Alfred..."

The elder's body went limp and unmoving—his smile still formed on his lips even as his body went lifeless.

America cries harder and brings up the other in a love-surrounded embrace for the last time that night to hold his beloved in his arms—there was nothing else for him to do, but as long as they both knew their love for each other… Then…

_Then I guess it's alright…_

He buries his face into England's silky hair. America chuckles heart wrenchingly—it was so sad... "I love you Arthur... Sleep well my angel..."

The rain crashed down as it descended from the ebony sky beating down on the two broken nations crying along with the American whispering sincere apologies to the country for his loss, but their words were meaningless and didn't do one bit of reconcilement to the weeping nation—let him grieve with his precious one…

"Sleep well..."

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And there it is! Part 4 of _The Rain Always Falls Here. _Hope you enjoyed this little fic :D

There wasn't really much back story between Gilbert and Arthur in the first fight. While the C4 was counting down, Prussia ran off as far as he could along with his men—but some didn't make it of course and the bodies were taken away after Arthur passed out and had his weapons taken— just a fyi Arthur totally kicked ass when fighting (But I didnt put it up xD) our little birdy luver xD But Prussia totally ruled too :) Anyways since Prussia was already badly hurt n stuff the pain kinda built up along with the soreness of his body, so one bullet was enough to send his body a breakin down.

REVIEW DAMMIT! xD

But please review... :D

I'll see you in the next chapter of this fic! :DDD (Yus there is a next chappy xD)


	6. Part 5: I Remember

The Rain Always Falls Here Part 5- I Remember...

"_Hey Arthur—did I ever say thank you to you for saving me at this lake?" America asked casually with a small, but meaningful, smile on his face._

_After growing tired of watching leaves fall from trees and counting each one that would land on top of the water, England turned his head towards the American in a questioning manner—surprised to be asked such a question, especially by America. Such an intimate question like that wouldn't come from Alfred—yet, it did._

_The two nations stayed sitting on the evergreen grass with the sparkling lake in front of them and the warm ray from the sun welcoming the two into its arms._

_The elder country smiled softly, "No—I don't believe you did." He said kindly._

"_Oh okay." America responded casually again._

_England cocked an eyebrow up and formed a frown upon his face, "Well..?" He asked slightly demandingly._

"_Well—what?" America asked, trying to refrain a chuckle._

"_Aren't you going to thank me..?" The English nation requested a little warily—feeling a twinge of embarrassment._

_America couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, "What? No..! Heroes are supposed to BE thanked not the other way around! I was just wondering is all." He laughed a bit more—shaking his head. _

_The older country scowled, "Then why did you ask such a bloody question you git?" England growled and turned his head away from the American to the front again—being slightly hurt at the younger nation's response._

_The sapphire eyed country turned his head towards the upset Englishman. "Come on England I was just messing with you—you know that!" He lightly punched the Brit playfully on the arm._

_England didn't look back at America and sighed. "No—I didn't l know that until you told me. Honestly Alfred, how can anybody take you seriously if you continue on crying wolf?" _

_America quirked his own eyebrow up, "What wolf? What are you talking about?" He asked confusedly._

_The emerald eyed man sighed again before explaining, "Like the story, 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf'. In the story, the boy always said that there was a wolf and so eventually the village people didn't believe him when there was an actual a wolf around." England sighed once more and turned his head to America. "Keep joking around like that and it will be the downfall of you Alfred."_

"_Okay... So why are you so upset? What's the big deal? Everyone jokes around!" America pointed out defiantly._

"_That's not the issue." England stated plainly._

"_Then what is?" _

_The elder sighed, shaking his head once again. "Learn to read the atmosphere—will you?" England said irritatingly—he furrowed his eyebrows inward._

_America frowned, "Aw but I hate reading! I don't even know where to buy that book!" He whined equally as childish—pouting ever so immaturely._

_A shot of aggravation hit England—not knowing whether or not America was serious or was really just that dense. He was annoyed with the other nation's ignorance and his inability to say a simple 'thank you' for saving his ass, but gratitude or not—England would have saved America from any sort of danger, even now that the superpower is older and is capable of fending for himself._

_England sighed off the irritated feeling towards America and instead was mad towards himself for making a big deal out of something small—even if it was just himself who thought that when in reality there was no 'deal' to deal with or make larger. He was being silly—America is an idiot so that would explain everything perfectly._

"_Never mind—let's just forget about it." England said plainly—turning his head back in front to stare at the rippling waters and leaves jumping around on the water's surface from the gentle breeze._

_America chuckled, shifting his head to watch the same scenery as England, "Hey Arthur—_

—did I ever say thank you for saving me at the lake..?" America asked quietly with his head bowed. His voice was straining to talk—having the feeling of wanting to talk, but not wanting to at the same time. His feelings raged inside his body—it overwhelmed him, it hurt him, but there was still much to say... But nothing was fitting together the way it should—so he only said what was needed to be said.

The mourning country stood in front of a grave— he himself, formally wearing all black. In his hands he carried a small bouquet of daises and lilies with the stems wrapped together in gift tissues and plastic made perfectly for this.

America chuckled sadly—head still bowed, unable to look at the grave and the tombstone that was at the head. "I guess I never did—huh..?" He said sadly.

The grave, the headstone, the carved words written on the stone—it hurt so much... But he needed to be strong... He didn't want to look so broken in front of his beloved.

He kneeled down and placed the bouquet of flowers on top the grave without looking up, "Well here it is... Thank you..." America choked back a sob before standing back up—still not looking straight at the grave, "Thank you... I'm sorry I didn't say it to you before..." Tears began streaming from the nation's eyes trailing over his cheeks and dripping onto his suit. His head remained down as he cried lightly. "Thank you for being with me..."

America lifted an arm and covered his eyes whilst he cried, "W-Why did y-you have to g-go..? W-Why..?" America cried out stuttering.

Indeed—why..? Why do those closest and dearest to you have to pass on...without you..? Why must we suffer so..?

"I-I j-just bought h-him a w-week ag-ago..!" The American shouted out.

...Say what..?

"And what a thrilling 7-day life he had." Was said behind the crying nation. "Really now—how long are you planning to stay here?"

England walked up beside the crying American in front of the grave and placed a loving hand on his shoulder. He also was formally wearing an all black attire suit—having some bandaging show, but being mostly covered by the suit. His wounds barely hurt now—being a country and all, he was a fast healer. The bullet had missed Arthur's heart by the skin of his teeth—a centimeter away from being fatal.

The elder turned his head to America—showing sympathy in his gleaming emerald eyes, but with a pinch of snickering twinkling in the corners. How he got dragged into this—he had no idea.

America lifted his head and turned it to look at the other nation—showing the latter his tear streaming cheeks and the childish sadness that covered his face. The blue eyed country instantly attacked the Englishman with a hug—crying on the Brit's shoulder.

England sighed, returning the embrace—taking a hand and rubbing America's back to comfort him. "Honestly Alfred—all this crying over something_ that _trifle?" England pointed out.

Alfred sobbed louder trying to prove his point that it was something worth crying for—but something told England that America did it on purpose and wasn't actually crying as much as he showed it to be.

"That damn Prussia—shooting at _my _Arthur, hurting _MY _Arthur..!" America held on tighter to England—tightening the hug. "And then this too...! England it's just not fair..!"

The English nation chuckled slightly still rubbing the other's back to calm him down, "Life is not fair, love." He gradually pushed America off of him, holding on to the American's arms, to look at the younger nation with his loving emerald eyes and warm smile. England slowly moved his hands down America's arms, locking their hands together.

"Now no more crying." England kindly insisted. "We'll go get you a new one, okay?" He requested, tightening his hands grip with America's.

America sniffled, nodding before leaning in to kiss England passionately on the lips with the other leaning into the kiss also.

After a moment, the blue eyed country broke away from the other and smiled lovingly at his darling Arthur. "At least it wasn't you... I wouldn't have the will to go on without you..." He let go of a hand—with the other still holding onto one of England's –and placed it on the side of the other's face. "You're so beautiful..."

The younger man's words made the Brit blush, turning his head slightly to the side.

America sniffled again, his voice hitching a bit before returning to normal, "Thanks again Arthur... Not just at the lake—but for everything you did for me." His eyes shimmered in the sunlight—beautiful sun shining; no depressing rain.

Arthur returned the loving smile looking back at America, "You're very welcome." England said affectionately, "I will always be there to help you when you need it." England took America into another embrace. "I won't let you drown..."

America returned the hug—holding onto England tighter.

"I love you Arthur—so much."

"I love you more."

America laughed, "No way! _I_ love _you _more!"

Scoffing, England's hold on America became tighter, "Don't be ridiculous. Of course_ I _love you more."

"Nope. You just think you do, but really—_I_ freaking love you more!"

"Ugh! Bloody hell!"

America laughed again, "I love you." He said tenderly running a hand through the other's soft hair then bringing it down to grasp onto his other arm—to lock England in the hug.

England sighed shaking his head slightly—willing to be trapped in the arms of his dear Alfred. "I love you too—

—git."

After some time, the two walked away from the grave hand in hand—talking about where they'll be going next and initiating petty arguments about where to eat which eventually ended in another hug and gentle kisses until they reached England's brilliant high-class European car.

As the warm sunlight poured on top the graves of the cemetery, light wind danced around the tombstone of the grave the two had just left. The flowers America had placed begun dancing along with the breeze causing several petals to fly off to join the current of air.

The petals floated around the polished rock marking, surrounding it in their silent escapade of much less coordinated movements. On the headstone were the carved words—

_**R.I.P**_

_**Here lies America's CUSTOM made jacket.**_

_**Date: Last week-A week after**_

_**He will be greatly missed—by America.**_

The End.

* * *

I'm so glad that I figured out how to edit and update around the wierd 'error type 2' deal when I try to update o_O I thank yahoo answers and everyone who answered! Hopefully the people in charge of this site will solve this problem out soon for other people because it looks likeIm not the only one with the problem.

Lol did you guys think Iggy was dead..? :3 Well he's not (That would've been lame, oui!) Plus the genre did say angst and hurt/comfort—not tragedy xD And also if you read the chapter 4 carefully, I didn't say that he died. Sure I did say lifeless, but when you're sleeping you would seem pretty lifeless right? Especially if you're a heavy sleeper xD It also would seem like you're not even breathing when you're sleeping too xD (I know. When my brother sleeps it's like he's dead xD Good thing he wasn't ;_;)

Oh and with Prussia—he didn't die either (That would've been lame too). He merely passed out due to major loss of blood and was sent to prison for a couple of days/weeks/months/years... Just until he can control his awesomeness and bring it down to _nonviolent _xD SO—that's probably going to take some time. xD He needs time to effin chill. xD

And with France... Eh I'm not sure what happened to him. I only put him in there to be like 'FRANCE TO THE RESCUE!' or something xD

And that's that! :D The end of _The Rain Always Falls Here _-tears up- :'D I can't believe it's finally done!

I really hope you all liked/loved it! I really do! This would be the first fic I finished and I would like to thank everyone who stuck with me until the end even when it seemed like this fic was dead! And with that, I give you my undying gratitude! :'D –cries happily-

A little side note: _Britannian idiot, American Idiot_ is going strong and I would appreciate all the love and support to keep it alive and going! I have stayed faithful with updating pretty quickly and not months like this one, let's keep that going and please lend me your power by reviewing and PMing me encouragement! xD

Here's a little contest(ish) thing—whoever gives me the most awesome and most encouraging review/PM will receive a one-shot about these two (America and England. Doesn't have to be a couple thing if you don't want it to be) with the topic and genre of their choosing :D (If you would like, of course. If you don't want me to—because you hate me...—then that's okay... :') )

There's a good chance that there will be more than one winner so Ill do my best to make you all happy! :D I shall message those who have won! :D

Review please and keep me alive! :D Seriously... please review... I haven't been getting much love in a while...


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